


Only Priests and Fools Are Fearless

by Hallianna



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, New Relationship, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-03-08 11:15:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3207170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hallianna/pseuds/Hallianna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fear had defined both their lives but now, Alena Trevelyan and Cullen Rutherford each have a second chance.  If they learn to live outside of their fears, they may just find that second chance in each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Dark of Night

_“Only priests and fools are fearless and I’ve never been on the best of terms with God.”  
― Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind_

A lone figure stood on the highest battlement at Skyhold and watched. The cloaked head didn’t move, dark eyes staring out at the mountains, fixated on some point lesser eyes could not see.  Wind caught the tail of the cloak and pulled it about, but the figure didn’t flinch as the cold breath of the mountains hit them.

It was watching, waiting.  Looking for some sign, some portent, to lead them to the next point.

That’s what Cullen liked to think.  As though the figure were looking for answers in the dark of the mountains.  A bit romantic, but better than dwelling on the contents of the wood box he’d been staring at for the past half hour.  He’d pushed out of his office, past the night watch, to stand at his spot on the battlements like he did every night.  Varric liked to joke that he’d likely worn a hole in the stone by now, since he went there without fail.  But tonight, he was not greeted by thin beams of moonlight and the unending dark.

There was someone in his spot, the long hood and trailing hem of the cloak shrouding their face and figure.  He could turn back, quickly scuttle off into the shadows and the figure wouldn’t even know he was there.  Or he could cough, make some noise, to alert them to his presence.  If it was Solas, the elf probably wouldn’t even acknowledge him past the barest nod of his head.  

_And if it was her…_

“I don’t know if it’s beautiful, or frightening, all this dark.  It’s unnerving, but it’s better than a hole in the sky.”

Cullen’s gaze shot up from his boots to the hooded figure.  The head turned just a little, catching a slice of gray moonlight on its chin and the tip of the nose.  

_It was her._   But he’d known that by the sound of her voice.

A smile tugged at the tiny part of the lower lip he could see, and then she said,  “You needn’t hide in the shadows, Commander.  I know I’m in your spot.”

Cullen slid one foot, then the other, onto the rough stones of the battlement, then said quietly, “You’re not in my spot, Inquisitor.”

“Don’t be so coy.  Or kind.  Any other man might think I was waiting for him, standing in the spot he visits nightly.  Waiting to talk to you, something that couldn’t be put off until morning.”

He approached slowly, came to stand a few feet from her.  Her words warmed him, despite his hesitations and the sting of the wind.  ”Were you waiting for me?”  She laughed softly in response but said nothing. “I mean, er, was there something you needed, something I can help with?”

She turned then so he could see her full profile, the smile that had been on her face moments before gone.  “No, Commander, I’m not in need of anything at this moment, save for a quiet place to think.”  She scrutinized him, those green eyes almost black in the rough-edged light. “But I’ll take the company if you’re offering.”

And she turned away, facing the mountains.  Cullen found himself drawn up short, like the proper response was just beyond his reach and he could strain and sweat trying to grab it, but to no avail.  

He always felt like around her, had since Haven.  He had since she’d brought the world crashing down on them all.

A pop, then the slight sizzle of magic turned his attention back to her. Her hand - that hand - was glowing faintly green.  The hue of it reminded him of early leaves in spring, the first buds of wildflowers hoping to beat off winter’s chill.  It seemed so silly but in some way, it gave him hope.  That light, that power, was the only thing keeping them, the entire world, from falling over cliffs of destruction.  

But it was also a warning, a beacon of caution.  Every time her hand lit up, he knew they were not safe.

“Dagna thinks it’s pretty,” she said, stretching her arm out to widen the light’s glow.  “I can see that, from her perspective.  If I think it’s just pretty, and useful, it keeps me from wondering what will happen to it at the end of all this.”  She held out her other hand, let out a breath, and blue fire sat in her palm.  She turned her hand over and let the flames creep up her arm, then pushed her hands together as close as she dared.  The magic flared, white and hot and nearly blinding in the small space between her palms.  “Solas thinks I might absorb the energy, make it part of my magic.  But it’s all guesswork right now.”

Cullen furrowed his brow in thought.  “I hadn’t considered that, Inquisitor.  That seems…dangerous.”

“Indeed.”  She shook her hand and the blue fire disappeared.  And the darkness of the night returned.  “But it is speculation and for right now, rather useless.”

Cullen’s response was instantaneous.  “It’s not useless if it saves you, saves us in the end.  Don’t think like that.”

The smile she gave him was grim, just a tight line of lips and no light behind her eyes.  “Haven’t you been listening to Varric’s stories, Commander?”  He mumbled something about never listening to the dwarf and she chuckled.  “You may want to start.  They seem ridiculous, but he’s not wrong.”

“Wrong about what?”

“Good heroes save as many people as they can.  They save villages, whole towns.  Maybe even a country or two. And they get all the praise, all the love for that act.”  She drew in a breath and let it out slowly before her voice dropped like an anvil.  “Great heroes save the day and make the sacrifice.  That’s where their stories end.  I find myself wondering of late what kind of tale Varric will write for me.”

* * *

 

The doors to Skyhold’s main hall thundered open.  Cullen’s hand went straight to the pommel of his sword, eyes darting about on the hunt for danger.  He squinted against the light and heard Josephine gasp.

His eyes landed on the Inquisitor’s companions dragging something…monstrous between them.  She held up the rear, like she always did, though from what he could tell she looked a bit worse for wear.  There was something splattered against her armored tunic, even high up enough to dash against her cheek.  But she was smiling, laughing, as she motioned Iron Bull along.

“Yeah, boss, I got it,” he drawled, taking the large thing from Dorian and Varric and heaving it onto the stone floor.  “It’ll make a hell of a trophy.”

The thing landed feet from he and Josephine and all Cullen could do was stare.  It was a dragon’s head, covered in dull orange scales and horns of bone, eyes white in death.  And it was dripping blood and other…fluids on the floor, rivulets of orange-red running between the stones.

“That is, er, quite the trophy, your Worship,” Josephine calls down to them.  “What do you intend to do with it?”

The Inquisitor smiled up at her Ambassador and Cullen watched the streak of red on her cheek stretch garishly.  “What isn’t going to Dagna for study and new armor is getting mounted in the tavern.”

“The tavern?”

The Inquisitor kept smiling, shooting a look over at Bull and making him chuckle.  “Yes, the tavern.  Bull made the killing blow and asked for the head.”

Josephine shook her head, but made a few notes on her tablet and walked away, the click of her heels echoing disapprovingly through the hall.

“Haha, yes,” Bull bellowed, thumping a fist on his chest.  “Ah, you should have been there, Cullen.  The way that thing belched fire us, the beat of its wings in the air.  Best fight I’ve had in a long time.”

“Including Haven?” Dorian asked, his eyes turned downward to inspect the mud on his boots.

“Well, we didn’t get blown up or lose anyone, so yes,” Bull shot back, pulling his axe from its sheath to palm it.  “Did you feel the ground shake when it landed?  Damn!”

Varric rolled his eyes skyward and caught the Inquisitor doing the same. They both smirked, making Cullen wonder just how much time the Inquisitor had been spending with the dwarf.  But while Varric couldn’t tone down the warmth in his eyes, the sharp edges of the Inquisitor’s features made the expression look almost fierce.

He’d seen many an enemy on the receiving end of her more ruthless expressions.  And she’d startled more than a fair share of troops, even Templars, when she turned her gaze on them.  In all rights, none of that should startle Cullen.  She was a mage, yes, and he’d been trained to face down even the worst of and in mages, but he no longer thought like that.

And there was something about her.

He couldn’t pinpoint it, but it  _haunted_  him.  It was more than just the way she carried herself or how she skewered people with a few words.  He knew there was kindness in her, had seen it firsthand over and over again.  But her ferocity, her fire…

_Her fire._

He thought back to a few nights ago, on the battlements, and how she’d talked about the end.  A finality to all this chaos.  Her words had followed him long after she’d said goodnight and slipped down a nearby staircase.  Her words had haunted him, soaking into his feverish dreams and dousing everything in bright red blood while the earth shook with the roar of a dragon.

_She haunted him._

Cullen ran a hand down his face and stepped around the beast’s head, meaning to slip past the group while they recounted the battle.  The last thing he needed to add to his dreams were the sightless eyes of the dragon.

“Cullen,” the Inquisitor called out just before he put a hand on the hall’s doors.  He turned as she walked toward him, robes brushing the floor, eyes bright.  The three men behind her carried on (mostly Varric and Dorian telling Bull how no, they didn’t need to find another dragon so quickly).

She pushed open the doors for them and started down the stairs, Cullen following in her wake.  His previous destination didn’t seem so important now.  “I understand you’re looking for recruits in the mage ranks to help the soldiers learn how to fend off magical attacks,” she stated as they walked across the courtyard.  

She turned once, then again, leading them up stairs close to his office. His silence must have confounded her, because halfway up she looked down at him.  “This is a…sensitive issue, Commander.  One that shouldn’t be spoken of in open air.”

“Yes, of course,” he replied automatically even as he kicked himself for jumping to respond.  

There was something about this woman, this mage - this leader - that had even him wanting to obey every word from her lips.  And his focus on her was more than the way her hips swayed as she walked, or how the breeze caught the strands loosened from her bun.

His office was dark, only lit by a single candle and a crack of sunlight from the upper floor, where the roof hadn’t been patched. And of course she noticed the lack of light the moment he closed the door.  “You know, there is plenty of room in the main tower,” she said, smiling a little while she watched him move effortlessly behind his desk.  He was going to stand to talk to her, giving him a little more foothold in the conversation, even if it was just a difference in height.  But she threw herself down into the one chair opposite his desk and folded her hands primly on her lap.

Every single time he turned around, this woman confounded him.  “I like it here,” he explained.  “I’m close to the barracks, should any issues arise with the men.  And a commander should not be living in better quarters than his soldiers.”

“It’s that simple?”  She glanced down at her hands, then back up at him, fixing him with those dark green eyes.  “Well now I feel guilty, sleeping in those beautiful quarters Josephine arranged for me.”

His brow furrowed, confusion marking his features.  “What?  You’re the Inquisitor.  Your chambers should be better than everyone’s.”

“Because my hand glows?  I hardly think that’s justification.”

“It’s more than your mark, Inquisitor.”

She pulled herself to standing and held her hand out to him.  “Is it?” Her voice was hard.  ”Don’t give me that line about it being what I’ve done with the mark, all the good deeds I’ve done, all the hashmarks I’ve scored on the Maker’s chalkboard to show what a good girl I’ve been.”

Her snarl took him off-guard but he walked around the desk and grabbed her hand, wrapping his gloved fingers around hers.  “You don’t do it for the Maker, nor the Chantry. You’ve made that clear on a few occasions.  But no matter what you might think, what you’ve done matters, Inquisitor.”

She pulled her head back to look at him.  She smelled like pine and cold stone, and when he breathed in he could picture her standing in a maelstrom of burning branches and bloody water and staring down a high dragon, her entire being soaked in power.  “Are you going to tell me what’s troubling you?” he coaxed, thinking a switch in tactics was his best bet.

This only infuriated her.  Her eyebrows drew to a narrow point in the center of her forehead, her mouth pinched.  “It’s nothing.  Leave it.” She pulled away, radiating anger and something more unsettling.  Wounded pride?  No, she wasn’t like that.

Cullen watched her spin away, fists balled against the outside of her thighs.  And as he studied the stick straight line of her back, he realized it.

Fear.

The thing that kept him up at night, that demon that crept in at the darkest hours and lingered like a bad taste in his mouth and added a few more shades of black under his eyes.  He’d felt fear like a cage, a prison to hold him in while his brothers died.  The thing that forced him back, pushed him under, and never let him surface.

Her fear was different.  It snaked through her frame, settled in her bones, and lurked behind everything she did.  Or at least, that’s how she seemed to feel.  Cullen understood fear, how it manifested, how it ate away at a person.  And he knew how to recognize it in another.

Fear, he found, was best confronted head on.  He’d learned that over and over again, tied and bound by it, lashed to a wall by it.  Preyed on by fear and night sweats and a darkness that never seemed to end. And breaking free had been the hardest peace he’d ever won, drawn out on a breath and a sigh and a feeling of completeness.

He was never completely free of his fear.  He wasn’t so blithely stupid to believe that.  But if it stayed in the corner, hidden, like someone throwing a blanket over an old piece of furniture, he could pretend it wasn’t there.

“Inquisitor,” he murmured, moving around a pile of books and to her.  “I meant no offense.  I simply wanted to -”  Cullen sighed, ran a hand over the back of his neck.  “I only wanted to help.  I understand the fear, the dread.  If you felt like sharing -”

“It never leaves, does it?” she whispered, so low he had to stand beside her to hear her next words.  ”The doubt, the anxiety.”

It was as close to a confession as he’d get.  ”The fear,” he finished, sliding over just enough so their shoulders were brushing.  “No, not completely.  And you have the entire world staring at you, weighing your every move.”

She blew out a breath.  “As much as I didn’t need the reminder, yes.  I do.”  She batted a hand in the air and made a noise of exasperation. “But I didn’t come here to lay my burdens before you, Commander.”

“It’s Cullen to you, Inquisitor.”

That drew a tiny smile across her lips.  “And if I tell you to call me by my given name, will you?”  His silence was her answer.  “What if I commanded it?”

His smile matched hers.  “Well, that would be a different matter. I’d have to obey.”

“Mmmm, I’m sure you would.”

Cullen cocked his head, sure he heard her wrong.  She’d teased him with those words, spoken in a smolder that settled somewhere south of his belly.  Ridiculous timing and even worse, now she was smirking at him.  Just barely, but still…

"I apologize, Commander.  Cullen," she said in that same velvety tone. "I’ve completely turned our conversation around and I didn’t intend that." She took a deep breath and continued.  "What I wanted to suggest is that I offer you my assistance in finding mages to help train your soldiers."

Her flip in mood would have seemed sudden if he hadn’t been familiar with the tactic himself.   _Focus on the present and you’ll shove the worst of it to the back, almost fooling yourself into thinking it was gone._

Yes, he knew what she was doing, forcing him to change the subject with her. So he didn’t focus on the fear.  Her weakness.

"That’s a generous offer, Inquisitor-"

"Alena."

That made him smile.  ”Are you certain?”

"Of my name?  I certainly hope so, otherwise my parents have played the most winning of practical jokes on me for almost thirty years."

Cullen stifled a laugh, tried to wipe it away with his hand.  She caught him and smiled back.  ”And why do I get this honor, your Worship?”

_That_  made her glare at him, but there was no heat to it.  ”Don’t worry about it,” she stated.  ”I wanted to suggest training for your men in the next few days.  That will give us time to find the right mages and walk them through some basics so we don’t have anyone’s hair lit on fire.  I’ll draw up a list tonight.”

"All right," he agreed, already thinking of a few of the rebel mages who would fit the bill.  "Do you want to meet later, go over our selections?"

She nodded.  ”I could do it tonight, but it would be late.  Perhaps tomorrow?”

"Late tonight is fine.  I’ll be up."

Alena started to walk past him, still smiling.  ”So the rumors are true.”

"What rumors?"

She stopped and turned, a knowing look on her face.  ”There are whisperings that our stalwart commander doesn’t sleep but a few hours every night.  Some of the men believe that’s how you stay so strong, so…virile.  A few have been trying to wean themselves on such a sleep schedule.”

Cullen scoffed, trying to ignore the suggestions her voice and words were making.  ”Is that why some of the men are always yawning through morning drills?  Maker’s breath, what a ridiculous notion.”

“It’s just the current rumor,” she shot over her shoulder as she walked away.

“There have been rumors  _before_?” he cried, incredulity lifting his voice.

He only got a chuckle for an answer.


	2. A Shattered Box of Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inquisition dialogue in one part, so spoilers for the Cullen storyline in DAI.

She returned very late that evening with a roll of parchment and two steaming mugs.  She handled them bare-handed, long fingers wrapped around the bases, turning one so the handle faced him.  He took it, a grateful twist of his lips making her nod in return.

They set to work, going over lists of mages who might be willing to work with the Inquisition soldiers, and would be good at such a task.  They bent over his desk, heads together, talking and sipping tea.  Occasionally, Alena would make a clever quip about a particular mage and Cullen would stay silent, or on the few instances where he was familiar with the mage in question beyond an assessment of abilities, he’d try to match her wit.

And as the night wore on, moonlight and starlight leaking through the hole in his roof and casting shadows on his floor, Cullen realized that Alena knew more about the rebel mages than he did most of his own soldiers.  It was a bit of a shock and he pulled back to look at her when it hit him.

She must have felt his eyes on her because she straightened and rolled her shoulders.  “Something the matter, Cullen?”

_Cullen_.  His name on her lips was - well, he had no word for it other than _heady_.  Like the rush he’d experienced after being knocked sideways in his saddle during a practice bout years ago, the world swam and he felt his cheeks heat, just a little.

“Um, no,” he replied quickly, making her raise an eyebrow.  “I mean, it’s just...I’m now fully understanding why the mages trust you so much.”

Alena snapped her fingers and blue flame lit a path from her wrist to her fingertips.  “You mean it’s not just this?”

Cullen shook his head.  “You _know_ them.  You take the time to talk to them, ask about their families, their lives.  Even with all the things you must do, you add that to your list.”  He watched the fire dance across her skin.  “You make them matter.  Not as a group.  As individuals.”

A flick of her wrist, and the fire was gone.  “You do that with your soldiers,” she stated, not looking for an argument.  Her tone was clear about that.  “I’ve seen you with them, talking to them, practicing and training them.  With them.”  She shot a grin down at his boots.  “You’re certainly not afraid to get dirty.  And that’s important, it shows them that you’re their commander, but you’re also on their level.”

Cullen leaned over the desk again, warming from her praise.  “Well, that’s kind of you to say, Inquisitor.”  He flinched, but she beat him to it.

“Oh, back to that now, are we?” she teased.  Her fingers brushed his as she reached for his list and he saw the back of her hand was covered in shallow cuts.

Concerned, he wrapped his hand around her wrist and held it up, closer to the light.  “What happened?”

She let him hold her hand for a moment before answering with a sigh, “I was hoping no one would notice.  One of the younger mages, he’s just a boy really, found a stray cat when we were at Haven.  He carried the cat with him to Skyhold, I’m told in his knapsack, and she-” Alena’s eyes followed Cullen as he studied her hand.  “And she fell in love with another stray cat, a strapping calico I’m told, had a beautiful honeymoon, and just had a litter of kittens.  She and her cat husband are very proud.”

Cullen’s mind didn’t absorb her words, or the change in her tone of voice, until she was softly laughing at him.  “You did that on purpose,” he said, gently letting go of her hand.  “And I’m to assume the kittens did this damage?”

“Little things bite terribly hard.”

He snorted.  “And you didn’t heal it?”

She shrugged.  “What for?  They’ll just scratch me again when I visit tomorrow.”

This indomitable woman, the savior of many and the fear of others, brought down by a bunch of squirming, mewling kittens.

He found it rather adorable.

“Shall we continue?” she asked, shaking him from his thoughts.

And so they continued.

But Cullen’s awareness of her - typically on alert any time she was in his line of sight - was heightened.  He heard every breath, every rustle of clothing, every snick of her pen on the parchment as she crossed out names from the list.  

He was aware of _everything_ about her.  And the most distracting of all were tiny things - her hand pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, the shift of her hips as she moved, the light glinting off the plain silver band she wore around her middle finger.

He’d drifted off again, but this time, she didn’t interrupt him with words.  Instead, she tugged on the fur at his shoulder and drug him down to her level.  “You’re getting further and further away from the task at hand as the night goes on, Cullen,” she teased, her voice a hum deep in his brain.  “Shall we desist?”

“No, not at all,” he replied, looking for a smirk on her face and finding only fine lines of concern across her forehead.  “You needn’t worry about me. I’m just - “

“Distracted.”

He sighed.  “Yes.”

“Something you wish to talk about?”  When he stared at her for a moment, she said, “It’s all right, Cullen.  If you wish to talk, you have my ear whenever you like."

She rounded his desk and came to stand before his bookshelves, inspecting their contents with more than passing interest.  Instead of talking to her back, he decided to join her.  His hand didn’t hesitate in pulling a book down and passing it to her.

“In case the library doesn’t have enough on dragons,” he said easily.  “I overheard you talking to Josephine about acquiring more draconology texts.”

“Thank you.”  She smiled.  “I think we have a workable list, don’t you?  There are enough names here to compensate for anyone who doesn’t want to partake in the training exercises.”

“I agree.  But you needn’t make up some excuse, Alena,” he said, chuckling as she grinned.  “Because you could just tell me you’re tired.”

“And if I’m not tired?”

“Well, it is awfully late,” he said, drawing out his words only a little.  “But I’m betting the tavern is still open.”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a key.  “And if it isn’t, I always have this.”

“That’s a dangerous proposition,” he said as he leaned against the bookcase.  “Rather daring for the Inquisitor and her Commander to be raiding the tavern’s larders so late at night.”

She scoffed.  “You can raid the larders, I’ll be making friends with the casks.”

Alena jerked her head toward the door and they started down the battlements, walking faster as the cold wind drove icy fingers down their backs.  Luck found them with an empty tavern but a full larder and a freshly opened cask of ale.  And an hour later, Cullen found himself facing a slightly tipsy Inquisitor who insisted on showing off her favorite spells.

They all involved fire, which was not the wisest of choices in a building made mostly out of wood.  He was sober enough to make sure she directed the flames at the fireplace and not the pillars holding up the floors above them, but drunk enough to let himself slip.

“You are quite a force of nature, aren’t you?” he murmured as he came up behind her, close enough to feel the brush of wind as she extinguished her flames.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, equally quiet.

“I’m sure you don’t.”  Cullen’s hand made a pass above hers and she opened her palm.  The mark glowed softly but didn’t pulse.  The ever-present reminder of the multitude of unknowns that awaited her. That awaited them all.

The mark left more than an impression on her skin, and he knew as well as she did that when this was all over, her work wouldn’t be finished.

“Did you mean what you said before, about heroes and stories ending?” he asked, concern creeping into his voice.

“My best answer?  No, not at all.  A moment of melancholy brought on by bad dreams and even worse realities,” she said, closing her hand.

“And your worst answer?”  He watched her turn away just enough for shadows to cast over her face.

She was quiet for a few long moments before saying, “Yes.  Yes, I was.  A moment of dread brought on by nightmares and the reality that I might not be able to end all this.”

Cullen took her hand in his and squeezed gently.  “How do you feel now?”

“Worried.  Anxious.  But not completely without hope,” she said, looking down at their joined hands.  “Not when I have people around me to keep things from tipping too far, who keep me level.”

“Ah.  Well, that I understand, amongst other things.”

“Do you?”

Cullen smiled at her.  “More than you know.”

 

* * *

 

 

He never meant to throw the box at her.  He never meant to throw it at anyone.  But the timing was perfect (or awful, depending on how you looked at that moment), and she rounded the corner into his office just as the box splintered against the door.

“Maker’s breath!  I didn’t hear you enter.  I -“  He paused, putting trembling hands on his desk.  “Forgive me.”

Alena walked into his office, unperturbed by the shards of wood and glass behind her.  “Cullen, if you need to talk…”

“You don’t have to - “ He rounded the desk, then grabbed it with one hand as pain lanced through him.  His voice was laced with exhaustion, the weariness he had kept hidden from everyone until now.  “I never meant for this to interfere.”

The mask of concern that dropped over her face made him want to redo the last few minutes.  “Are you going to be all right?” she asked as she went to his side, hands hovering over him.

“Yes.  I don’t know,” he answered, the honesty behind his words not startling her.  “You had asked before what happened to Ferelden’s circle.  It was taken over by abominations.  The Templars - _my friends_ \- were slaughtered.”

He turned away from her, away from the worry radiating off of her, and faced the window instead.  “I was tortured,” he explained, trying to deaden his voice like he was giving a report at the war table. Instead, it shook.  “They tried to break my mind and I - how can you be the same person after that?”

“Still, I wanted to serve.  They sent me to Kirkwall.”  He bit off the name of the city, disgusted by the taste of it in his mouth.  “I trusted my Knight-Commander, and for what?  Her fear of mages ended in madness.”

The next part of the story everyone knew, but it fell from his lips anyways.  “Kirkwall’s circle fell.  Innocent people died in the streets.  Can’t you see why I want nothing to do with that life?”

“Of course I can,” she replied evenly, but her voice was soft.  “I can’t imagine - “

“Don’t!  You should be questioning _what I’ve done_.”  He abandoned the window for restless pacing, which put him in front of her.  “I thought this would be better.  That I would regain some control over my life.”  His next words were razors, tearing him from the inside out.  “But these thoughts won’t leave me…”

Cullen’s hands went into his hair, pulling, then dropped to his sides.  “How many lives depend on our success?  How many people will die if we fail?  I swore myself to this cause….I will not give less to the Inquisition than I did the Chantry.  I should be taking it!”  His fist shot out faster than his brain could give the command to stop.  Books tumbled onto the floor and the bookcase rocked with the force of his punch.  

His voice dropped into a whisper.  “I should be taking it.”

“This isn’t about the Inquisition, Cullen.”  She approached him, no trace of fear on her features.  “You’ve already told me what the lyrium does to people, what it’s done to you.  What you want matters, even if you don’t believe that for yourself.  So, is this what you want?"

He let out a breath, and with it, some of the fear that had chained him for so long.   _She makes it seem so easy, to let go of the past, let go of the fear.  It isn’t easy, but maybe, with her…_   “No, it isn’t.”  With his confession, she took his hand and held it tightly in hers.  “But these memories have always haunted me.  If they become worse, if I cannot endure this…”

The slide of her palm over his cheek made him still.  The determination that set in her face told him her answer before she even spoke.  “You can.  And you will.  And I won’t let you go through it alone.”

"I don't know how to thank you."

Her face showed nothing, but her eyes glittered.  "I'm sure I'll think of a way.  Just make sure-" She sighed, staring at him intently.  "Just make sure you don't do this alone.  Find me, talk to me, whenever you need.  You'll never interrupt me, never bother me." Her hand slid down his arm to grasp his hand.  "Promise me."

He nodded, the only response he found himself capable of in the face of her selflessness.  It was good enough for her, as she nodded, squeezed his hand, and left his office.

He was left with a shattered box of nightmares and a full heart.


	3. A Grand Mistake

"You mustn't let your fear claim you. Stare down your enemy, raise your sword, and take control of the battle."

Cassandra leaned close to Alena and said, "I don't know why he doubted himself. Cullen is very good at putting the soldiers at ease, but not allowing them to get complacent."

"It's fear, Cassandra. We all feel it, we all know it. And when you're squaring off with the thing that's haunted your footsteps for what has felt like eternity, it's difficult beyond measure to be bold. To be brave."

Cassandra gave Alena a sharp look. "That's...very wise, Inquisitor."

She gave a short laugh. "You say that like you're surprised."

Cassandra shook her head. "Not surprised. I know your wisdom, I have seen it. But you're so correct, it's a little unnerving."

Another laugh. "To some, I'm more than a _little_ unnerving."

"Very true."

They watched Cullen run the group of soldiers through another drill. The ease with which he commanded them, ordered them about was, to Alena, almost pleasant to observe. She knew better than anyone the weight of the world and for a few long moments, she enjoyed seeing another take such control and turn it into something productive.

But she was not so absorbed in watching to not pay attention to the invisible tremor that went through the men when Cullen brought in the mages to begin training. Many of these soldiers were untried in the face of magic, and those who had seen enough at Redcliffe had reason to be afraid.

Their fear was not unfounded, but it had a ripple effect on their brothers and sisters. One would grip his sword a little tighter, and those standing next to him would notice and freeze, or perhaps look at the mages a little harder. Trying to put ice in their veins to keep the fear at bay.

They might all wear the same armor, march under the same banner, but centuries of strife and mistrust - and yes, fear - would always keep an invisible wall between those with magic and those without.

Alena knew it, and Cullen did as well.

She watched him pull forward only his best soldiers to give a bit of a show to the rest, and to make them understand the threat the Venatori posed. She’d told the chosen mages earlier that this was training, nothing else. The point was to aim beside the men, above them. Never at them. She trusted these mages, their training, their wits. And she trusted Cullen’s men to deflect, not to attack.

But fear should never be underestimated.

The first drills went smoothly, the veteran soldiers and one Templar showing the trainees how to block fireballs with shields, how to dodge lightning bolts. The mages did as she had instructed and the soldiers followed Cullen’s commands.

And then he brought forward a new group so they could mimic the tactics they’d just seen. That was when it went wrong.

A young man, probably older than he looked but none the wiser, had a nervous twitch to his sword hand that Alena didn’t like. She’d seen that twitch before in newer Templars who were still getting used to the armor, getting used to being around so many mages in a Circle. She’d learned to be wary of them and quickly, to never be alone with one. To never be caught in a hallway with one. But these mages, though they were well trained and vetted by herself and Vivienne, were too caught up in the moment, focusing so hard on _missing_ that they didn’t see the warning signs.

She did.

And so did Cullen.

Alena rushed forward the moment the soldier’s sword stopped pointing at the ground. She was a hair faster than Cullen, and that gave her the advantage. She shouted, threw up a barrier between the mages and the soldiers, and just in time.

She didn’t care whether he was crazed or simply fearful. He meant to do these mages harm. His sword bounced off the barrier and his fellow soldiers stepped back, mouths agape at the man as he shouted and raved, screaming horrible things about mages and abominations.

Cullen strode forward, knocked the sword from the man’s hand, and shoved him to the ground. One knee went on his chest as Cullen drew a dagger and pointed it at the man. “Don’t move,” he growled.

With the soldier subdued, Alena took the barrier down and checked on the mages. No one was hurt, but a few were shaken. Cullen turned the man over to soldiers Cassandra had brought over, and then they were left staring at each other through the slight haze of her magic and the smell of fear.

“I doubt we can convince anyone now to try again,” Cullen muttered angrily when she came near. “That damn fool, what was he thinking?”

“I’ve seen that look before,” Alena said, her face dark. “On the faces of those who have been touched by memories, or nightmares, of magic.”

Cullen froze. He knew her words weren't aimed at him, but they made his blood run cold nonetheless. “This is not what we needed. And I vetted these soldiers, thought they were fit for this kind of drill. Clearly, I was wrong.”

He started to pace but stopped when Alena put a hand on his arm. “It’s not your fault, Cullen. It’s not.” She gestured toward the remaining soldiers and mages. “But some of them are still here, and I doubt that’s out of fear of you and I. Perhaps they still want to learn.”

Cullen’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he smiled enough that she knew he wasn’t angry at her. “What are you suggesting?”

“Out of everyone here, who has the most experience with deflecting magical attacks?” She let the question hang rhetorical and then asked, “And out of everyone here, who do you think is the best to launch those attacks without causing harm?”

Cullen started at her for a moment, and then said, “You think _we_ should show them?”

“It’s not an awful idea.”

“It’s horrendous,” he said with no venom. “But it might just work.”

She swept a hand out in front of her. “Shall we?”

Cullen took that moment to study her, to study his own mind and decided that yes, he could do this. His memories, his nightmares, were not so terrible that he couldn’t drill his own soldiers. _For the greater good_ , he told himself. A _nd it is her I’m facing, not some demon_.

Cullen drew the soldiers back in line as Alena reassured the mages. Once everyone was settled, they faced each other. Alena drew on the power that lived in her veins, her form glowing slightly. Cullen stood against her, sword and shield in hand.

They stared at weapons made of steel and flesh, trying to put themselves in the places of their soldiers and what they would face. Later, Alena would realize that she wasn’t imagining herself as a mage of the Inquisition, but as a mage trying to flee a burning Circle as her friends died on Templar swords.

Everything they say about hindsight is accurate.

Cullen raised his shield, signaling he was ready. She nodded briskly, pulled up her hand, palm out to him.

The fireball came fast, a hot sphere of flame and air. He flicked his shield up and the magic fizzled on contact, sparks flying red and orange around the metal’s edges. But he didn’t flinch, only tipped the shield down enough to look at her and command, “Again.”

She gave no warning this time, firing off one, followed by another. He blocked both, his entire body crouched, leaning forward hungrily. “Again.”

They did this three, four, five times until Cullen was sure the soldiers understood the way to hold the shield, to anticipate the magic before it left the mage. He talked to them between blasts about maintaining composure and yelled over bursts of fire about shield tactics.

Alena felt worry gnaw at her gut, but Cullen never showed hesitation, any fear as he squared off with her. But when he asked for something different, ice or spirit magic, she thought it wise to stop. His last command of, "Again!" had ended with a brittle, broken edge that the men would chalk up to exertion. She knew better, though.

“Cullen, perhaps - “

“Inquisitor, they won’t learn if you don’t show them what a mage can do.” His eyes were narrowed and he didn’t look entirely focused on her as he closed the distance between them. “Do it again."

Her hands went to her hips, her face hard. Blood pounded in her ears, a white tempest of noise that made her dizzy. “And that maybe be true, but now is not the best time.” She met his step forward, putting them so close. Too close. “The next thing I aim at you won’t be a fireball,” she whispered harshly. “You know that.”

““I can take it." He bit out the sentence. "It’s the only way they’ll learn, the only way they’ll confront their fears of magic.”

There was an edge to his voice, sharpened to a point and she hesitated. His sword was pointed down, his eyes weren’t backlit with anything. But his entire being screamed something else, something primal.

Something she’d seen in so many Templars. “Cullen, perhaps - “

He hit the shield with the point of his sword. “Again!”

Two more fireballs, faster and hotter than before. “Inquisitor, they won’t learn if you don’t show them what a mage can do.” His eyes were narrowed and he didn’t look entirely focused on her. “AGAIN!”

“Cullen, this might not be the best idea -”

He took one giant step forward, tossing aside any safe distance requirements for such training. “It’s the only way they’ll learn,” he growled. “It’s the only way they’ll confront their fears of magic.”

“But it needn’t be all at once,” she hissed. “They’ve already had a bit of a shock today. Caution, that ideal you typically subscribe to so fervently, would be wise right now.”

He opened his mouth, to argue or protest, but Cassandra interrupted them. “I think now is a good time for a break,” she said, her tone brooking no arguments. She approached the arguing couple, waiting until the soldiers and mages had dispersed, and said quietly, “I’ll talk to the men, and have Dorian speak with the mages. I don’t think either one of you are up for the job right now.”

Cullen watched Cassandra walk away before saying, regret dousing his voice, “Inquisitor, I -”

“Don’t,” she interrupted, holding a hand up to stop him. “Just...don’t right now, Cullen.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Leliana’s timing couldn’t have been more perfect.  The newly captured Keep in the Western Approach was having darkspawn trouble and Bull had been itching to track the dragon they’d seen on their last visit.  Alena acquiesced, but it felt more like an excuse. That night, her dreams had been haunted by the things she’d seen Templars do to mages.  She’d woken up, head pounding, mouth dry, and in a vain attempt at resolving the tension between them, went to stand in his spot on the battlements.

He’d never shown up.  Alena had waited for hours, too proud and too cowardly to knock on his office door.  A small part of her was afraid she’d find not him, but the Templar of her nightmares bearing down with sword and shield and a higher calling.

They set out at first light, Bull instantly starting in on the Tevinter jokes (at least, they seemed like jokes to everyone but Dorian) and Varric playing peacekeeper.  She loved this part of traveling, the conversation on the road and around campfires, the sounds of blades being sharpened and bows being restrung, even the taste of camp food.  It was nearly a week’s journey to the Western Approach and another day to the Keep, but she needed the time, the distance.

But it didn’t matter how far she was from Skyhold, he appeared in her dreams.

_Some nights he walked out from the darkest recesses of her imagination with dead eyes and a glowing shield in hand.  It always looked like Cullen, but not quite.  It was though he was a composite, some haphazard collage of the Templars she’d met over the years and his was just one face on top of an armored body._

_He’d yell, then charge and no matter what she did, she could never get out of his path.  He barrelled over her, crushing bone and sinew with shield and bare hands, and the last thing she saw before the air was choked from her was the rage on his face._

_And other nights, he came to her with open arms and a warm smile.  And in these dreams, it was always him, never anyone else tagging along.  The glint in his eye made her think….dangerous things, thoughts no mage should ever have for a Templar.  But thoughts that were perfectly fine for anyone to have about the man.  Gone were the armor and shield, replaced by warm hands and a shirt that bared his collarbone._

_These were the dreams that left her foggy upon waking, still able to feel his hands on her hips, his mouth on hers.  She would spend hours trying not to recall how open, how safe, she’d felt with him, and how he returned every kiss, every gasp, with one his own._

“I know that look,” Dorian said in her ear as they packed up camp on the last day of their journey.  Alena said nothing, just paused mid-shove into her knapsack.  Dorian chuckled and leaned in to whisper, "That look, right now?  Well, beyond your aggravation with me.  That is the look of someone who can't get another someone off their mind."

Alena closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply.  "Is that so?"

"Darling, I've been there.  Trust me, trying to ignore those feelings won't make it better."

She sighed.  “Have any helpful suggestions?”

Dorian handed her a folded blanket.  “Well, if it’s who I think it is, talking to him might be best.  He’s a man of action, yes, but also of words.”  He winked at her.  “I know a few choice words from you always leave me ecstatic.”

Alena studied him for a moment, watching a grin spread over his face, and said, “Oh, shove off you,” while nudging him to the side so she could finish collecting her things.  When she was packed, she turned to look at the other mage.  “You really think it’s that easy?”

His smile, while slight, gave her hope.  “In this case, I really do.  My dear Inquisitor, we’ve stared down bears and dragons and all manner of Venatori filth.  I think you can handle a conversation with our Commander.”

He walked away, offering to help Varric finish up with a tent, and left Alena with her thoughts.  It was the last thing she needed.

Quiet moments meant her overactive mind would turn and turn, spitting out all manner of situations, times where she could approach Cullen on their return.  To clear up any issues between them, to tell him she didn’t fear him or his Templar background, but that her life was colored with experiences of a Circle mage.  And if he gave her time, and a chance, she knew she could let it all go in the face of his….

His what?  What was she really looking for from him?  A moment, a few stolen kisses in a candlelit office?  

Something more?

_A breath, a promise, a smile as she asked for more, and he gave it.  Yielding to her every whim and desire, he gave it, and with that, himself.  Completely and wholly to her._

Maker’s breath, I’m in trouble, she thought as they started down a path littered with gurguts and wolves.  

“Hey, boss, on our left!” Bull called out.  A screech filled the air and a shadow darkened the sand as the dragon flew overhead.

“Just bloody great,” Dorian said to no one in particular.  “Isn’t there some way around it?”

“What the matter, Vint?  Don’t want to get sand in your eyes?”

“More like I’d prefer not to get set ablaze,” he responded.

“Could be fun,” Varric said a tad unenthusiastically.  “I mean, what’s another high dragon between friends?”

“Think of it as an opportunity to test our mettle.  And you can always stand behind Bull if things get...interesting,” Alena said, shooting a smile his way.  “That’s good enough, right?”

“I'm all for letting Bull catch a tail to the head,” Dorian said, walking briskly to catch up to her.  “My bet is, he can take it.”

“Such positive thinking.  I like it.  Now you need to make those ice mines of yours work,” she responded, watching as Bull scanned the horizon for another sighting of their prey.

“Just watch where you put it, Vint,” Bull said, catching Alena’s gaze.  “I don’t want it exploding under me.”

Dorian huffed.  “You actually think I don’t know how place an ice mine?”

“Maybe,” Bull challenged, winking at Alena.  “Or maybe I think you should stop talking about it and prove it.”  He pointed to the east.  “Because she’s coming up on us.”

As it turned out, high dragons who live in sandy, warm climates really don’t like ice mines.  And they like it even less when those mines go off under their claws and freeze a leg in place.

And Alena realized two things during that battle:  one, that Bull was a lot of talk when it came to teasing Dorian, and two, she really shouldn’t be afraid of a talk with Cullen when she was staring down a high dragon armed with nothing more than a staff and her abilities.


	4. Fear, That Old Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: mentions of abuse, physical harm, murder. This is a heavy chapter the deals with some pretty awful stuff, namely Templar abuses of mages.

Cullen pushed past the nobles gathered in Skyhold’s main hall to where Josephine was standing near her office door.  Worry sliced through his mind like a saw, but he kept his tone even as he asked, “Have you seen the Inquisitor’s party since they’ve returned from the Western Approach?

Josephine gave a cursory shrug.  “Cassandra came through here a moment ago with Bull.”  She looked down at her notes, clearly distracted.  “I had to encourage Bull - again - to not hang their newest dragon head in the main hall.  Can you imagine what our guests would think?”

Cullen’s impatience rose up, but he squashed it back down because this was Josephine.  “I guess I should have been more direct, Ambassador.”  He blinked, swallowed hard.  “Did you see the Inquisitor come through here?”

Josephine tapped her pen, still gazing at the papers on her tablet.  “Hmm? Oh, yes, she did.  Dorian was with her.”

Cullen tried to keep his face neutral, but found his lips turning down anyways. “Dorian, you said?”

For the first time, Josephine gave Cullen her full attention.  “Yes….is something wrong, Cullen?”

An unfamiliar feeling, hot and dagger sharp, stabbed him in the gut.  “What?  No, I just - I just needed to know.  I have the latest reports from the Storm Coast and the Exalted Plains and wanted to review them with her, but if she’s busy -”

Josephine waved a hand.  “She’s in her quarters.  I’m sure she’ll want to see those reports right away, Commander.”  She returned to her notes with the look of someone utterly absorbed in what were likely inventory reports.

And since Cullen knew Josephine secretly hated inventory reports, he took her rather airy statement terribly seriously.

The walk up the stairs to the Inquisitor’s quarters was one of the most terrifying journeys of his life.  He feared desperately.  That she’d turn him away.  That she’d dismiss him completely, resigning him back to the troops and away from her doorstep.

That she wasn’t alone and he’d missed an opportunity.

Three steps up to her door and he stopped.  He couldn’t make out individual words, but there were clearly two voices coming from her quarters.  Cullen heard the low, velvet sound of her voice, and then a bark of laughter that was distinctly Dorian’s.

His courage fled, forcing him into a hasty retreat down the stairs and all the way across the courtyard.  He didn’t stop, didn’t look up, until he reached his office and the door was shut firmly.

And he waited, alone with his thoughts and worst of all, his anger at himself. He  _knew_  the Tevinter mage was no suitor of Alena’s but some small part of him saw the man as _competition_.  And that thought alone disgusted him.  He wanted to pull it out from where it was lodged in that dark part of his soul and crush it.

He was not a jealous man.  He wasn’t.

But he was completely senseless when it came to her.

Cullen stared down at his desk for several long moments, his eyes tracking over every familiar piece of paper.  But something deep red, just barely peeking out from under the reports he meant to deliver to Alena, drew his focus.

A curious hand wandered to the scarlet corner and pulled it out from the stack.  His name was written on the front, the back left unsealed.

The note inside left him with more questions than answers, but he’d heed her call.  Waiting until nightfall would be a simple task.  After all, he’d waited two weeks for her to return.  He couldn’t possibly do more damage in a few short hours.

He’d tucked the note away in a pocket, and it crinkled as he climbed her stairs later that evening.  She hadn’t been specific on a time.  He stopped on that wretched third stair again, one ear cocked toward her door.  It was foolish, and spiteful, but he couldn’t help it.  So when he heard nothing from the other side of the door, he stepped up, took a breath, and knocked.

Her welcome was instantaneous, so he pushed inside.

The gold, wavering glow of candles scattered around the room and the bitter scent of elfroot assaulted his senses.  Cullen glanced around but didn’t see her.

Her voice came from the other side of the far left door.  “In here, Cullen.”  A pause, and then, “Actually, I could use the help.”

There was the sound of cloth tearing, a grunt, then a hiss.  Cullen stepped over to the other door and swung it open to discover Alena hastily bandaging a wound on her arm.  Everything he wanted to say, had prepared to say upon seeing her again, fled the instant he saw blood running down her hand.

“Maker’s breath, what happened?”

Alena jerked her head up, slapping her free hand on the ragged cloth strips wrapped around her forearm.  “Damn Venatori rogues,” she replied with a growl.  “One snuck up on me before I could freeze him.”

Cullen went to kneel beside her.  “You should have this looked at, Inquisitor.”

She smiled grimly.  “I did.  Dorian patched up the worst of it after it happened, and again when we first arrived at Skyhold but I…I might have overextended myself this afternoon.”

 _Now Dorian makes sense_ , he thought as he eyed the torn stitches and elfroot stained skin.  It was a clean cut but it would take more than stitches to heal. “I’ll go fetch him,” he responded, moving to stand.

Her hand on his wrist stopped him.  Cullen turned back around and met her wide eyes.  “Don’t bother.  He was nearly drained of mana from our two weeks in the Western Approach and I told him to rest.  Just help me restitch it and I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”

“Alena-”

“Don’t.”  She grimaced, then said softly, “Please just help me, Cullen.  I promise I’ll take care of it, but for now, I can’t do this on my own.”

Cullen knelt again, taking her wounded arm gently and pulling it toward him.  “All right.”  Alena handed him a small injury kit and he set to work, stringing the needle with ease.

She chuckled.  “I should’ve known you’d be good with a field kit.”

Cullen knotted the string, pulling on it to make sure his handiwork didn’t budge. “I’ve patched up more than my fair share of injuries over the years.”

“Yours or others?”

“Both, in equal measure.”  He squinted, then nodded to the table behind her. “Could you hand me that candle?”

She passed it to him and he set it on the floor.  The flame danced, then went out.  “Dammit,” she said with a sigh.

He picked it back up and held it out.  “Could you-”

She shook her head.  “I’m completely drained.”

A look of shock passed over his face.  “That’s  _incredibly_  dangerous, Inquisitor. Bottoming out your mana could kill you.”

Her shoulders slumped and she ran her hand over her face.  “I know.  I know.  Trust me, I got the whole speech from Dorian, and then from Cassandra, and even from Varric.”  Her lips quirked into an expression lodged somewhere between humor and pained aggrievance.  “Dorian and his big mouth.  And he’s one to talk.  He almost did the same thing.”

“Except you stopped him,” Cullen added quickly before patting his pockets.

Alena didn’t answer, just watched as he pulled out a small flint box and relit the candle.  She held her arm out to him and he grasped it gently, cradling her elbow with his left hand and aiming the needle with his right.  

The first few stitches were done in silence, Cullen trying very hard to focus on making small, tight stitches.  She didn’t move, didn’t flinch, barely seemed to breathe as he worked.

When he was nearly done, she said, “You know, most field surgeons stitch faster than that.”  He looked up and saw her amused expression.  “There’s a fine line between precision and overly cautious, Commander.”

“Well, most field surgeons have to stitch wounds in the middle of battlefields.  I have light, space, and I’m not trying to dodge sword points at the moment, so I’d say I have the time to do this correctly.”

Heat crept up his neck as she stared intently at him.  “You’re trying not to leave a scar.  Let me put your mind at ease and make your work simpler - I don’t care about a scar.  I’ve never cared about scars.”

He swallowed hard.  “But I do.”

That drew a smile from her.  “In this case, perhaps.”  She reached out and touched the scar on his lip.  He froze, forcing his eyes to meet hers even as the lightning racing up his spine threatened to throw him off balance.  “But what about this?”

Her fingertip brushed the mark and he fought the urge to lick his lips.  A nervous habit long carved into his catalogue of reactions, so he had to turn his head away and refocus on her wound.  Her hand dropped into her lap, but she leaned toward him now.

Silence settled around them again.  Cullen wanted to tell her about the battle, the staff blade that gave him the scar.  But he knew better.  Any mention of Templars and mages now would just bring up the unspoken issue between them, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to face that just yet.  He had been ready when he’d knocked on her door tonight.  But her touch had rattled him, scattering his many thoughts and apologies to the wind.

He’d just tied a clean bandage around her wound when she said softly, “It wasn’t supposed to go like this.”

Cullen turned back to her, an inquisitive look on his face.  “It wasn’t supposed to be like what, Inquisitor?”

She closed her eyes for a moment, her chest rising in a sigh.  “I invited you up here so I could apologize.  For before, for the mages and for myself.  I reacted badly and - “

“Alena, don’t,” he replied as he pulled them both to standing.

She tugged away from him.  “Don’t do that.  Don’t try to shrug off what happened.  It was my suggestion that we go up against each other and it failed, miserably.”  Her eyes were burning and a shiver passed through him.  “I stood there and watched you pick up sword and shield and told myself that it was only you.  That you wouldn’t hurt me.  That we were teaching them how to protect themselves.”  Her gaze dropped to the floor, her hands clenching at her sides.  “But I failed, Cullen. I stood in front of you and I saw Templars who had hurt my friends, who hunted for them in the evenings, hoping to catch a mage alone, in the dark.  Men who punished innocent mages for simply  _existing_.  And if it was that bad for me, you must have….”

Her words clawed at his mind and his heart beat a rapid tattoo that almost made him sick.  He took a few deep breaths, thankful that his head wasn’t spinning.  “It was difficult,” he admitted.  “After everything I’ve seen, even though I knew it was you, my memories kept floating back up to the surface.”  He took a step toward her but didn’t dare reach out to touch her.  He had to spit this out, so they could move on.  Move forward.  

Alena was looking at him with her particular brand of patience, but his words didn’t come so easily.  “I remembered being imprisoned by mages at the Tower in Ferelden.  And I remembered the abominations the First Enchanter of Kirkwall set on us.  I remembered all of it, and in that moment, I was there again.   _My_  sword,  _my_  shield, against mages who had tried to hurt others.”  He drew in a ragged breath, fist balled against his thigh.  “But some part of me still knew it was you.  And after it was over, when I returned to my quarters, I wrote you letter after letter trying to apologize.  And when I finally worked up the courage to speak with you, you had already left.  Away on a mission in the Western Approach, Leliana told me.”  Cullen closed the distance between them, his words falling from his lips like so much weighted agony.  “And I’ve regretted my actions for two weeks, waiting for you to return so I could apologize.  So I could tell you how truly sorry I am that I let old wounds get the better of me.”  He grasped her good hand, her marked hand, in his.  “Please forgive me.”

Alena stared at him for a long moment, her lips parted slightly.  Cullen felt the air close around him and he began to give up hope when she finally whispered, “Of course I forgive you, Cullen.”  Her gaze softened but she drew back from him.  As his brow furrowed in confusion, she said, “I hope that you can forgive me as well.”  He started to speak, but she cut him off.   “And I realize that you’ve shared so much with me, your fears and your hopes, but I’ve told you so little.”

She turned her back to him and tugged the hem of her tunic over her head with her good arm, shoving the material down so it snagged about her wrists. “He didn’t like it that I tried to help a friend, another mage who had been out of her room past curfew. She’d been summoned by the First Enchanter but I told her not to go, that she’d get caught.  She went anyways and I had to follow, to make sure she stayed safe.”  Her shoulders drew together as she took a deep breath.  “He found her a few doors down from the First Enchanter’s room and refused to listen to her, even as she begged him to go ask the man himself.”

Cullen could only stare at the raised, white scars on her back.  There were at least fifteen lash marks, short and long, starting at her shoulders, sneaking underneath her breast band, and disappearing into the waist of her trousers. The shock of it didn’t keep his anger at bay, but he didn’t want her to hear it in his voice.  So he approached her slowly, his hand reaching out to hover just above her skin.  “He caught you?” he asked, his voice breaking.

She nodded.  “He raised a hand to slap my friend and I ran at him, yelling.  I knew it was stupid, but I think some part of me hoped he’d forget her and focus on me.  I figured he’d throw me in the dungeons and I’d have to wait for someone to get me out.”  

He let his hand rest on the scar that crossed her back from her right shoulder blade to her spine.  “But he did this instead.”

She pushed, just a little, into his touch.  “He made my friend watch, told me that every time I cried out, he’d add ten more lashes to her whipping.  But after I refused to make noise, he gave her the whip and told her if she didn’t do it….”  She swallowed hard. “If she didn’t do it, he'd find a more suitable punishment for us both.  I don’t blame her for what happened.”

Cullen couldn’t keep his anger in check, nor could he stop himself from sliding his hand down her back.  “Templars are supposed to protect mages, not  _abuse them_ ,” he spat.  “He had no right to wear the armor, to be a part of the order.  And Templar Commanders are supposed to root out recruits with vile inclinations and refuse them entrance.”  His voice shook but his palm stayed steady on her skin.  “Tell me he was punished.  Tell me someone reported this man and he was escorted from the Tower - “

“Promoted,” she said in a thick whisper and Cullen felt his stomach drop.  He closed his eyes, fighting the urge to pull her against him.  To take away the pain and the memories with his hands, to soothe the skin and the mind that had been cut, raw and ragged, by a man’s hatred.  “He dragged us back to our rooms and made her take care of me until her mana was drained.  And then he told the Templar Commander and the First Enchanter that he’d caught two mages out after curfew, trying to complete a spell far above their skill.  And that one of us had been injured and wouldn’t be able to attend classes for a few days.”  

Alena looked back at him and he tore his eyes away, not wanting her to see the anger etching his face.  She hurriedly tugged her tunic back over her head and was right behind him as he crossed the room.  The cold air hit him in the face the moment he opened her doors and he breathed deeply, wanting the chill to sweep away the anger that had whited out all other thoughts.  She didn’t touch him, didn’t approach him, simply said, “I don’t regret what I did. Presented with the same situation, I’d only change one thing.”

He turned around and watched her mouth tighten, her eyes narrow into slits she said, “I’d have tossed him out a window and watch his body break on the rocks below.”  


	5. On Solid Ground Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks a million times over to codenamecynic for her beta skills!

He left after she’d confessed to him. He’d seen horrible things done to mages, had tried to stop what he could, but the scars on her back told him of the times he, and any other Templar who understood what the order meant, had failed.  But he couldn’t rectify her admission with the woman he knew.  She was tough, certainly.  Dedicated without question.  But to admit she would have committed murder….

He understood it, on some level.  Being powerless to stop another’s abuses would have pushed anyone to their limit.  He knew that from experience.  But it wasn’t anger he’d seen on her face, but fear.

Their old friend again.  

So it wasn’t her statement that had bothered him.  The anger, the sense of betrayal, the moment he saw what had been done to her, had settled somewhere dark and cold.  It was a place he did not wish to linger.  It reminded him too much of times past.

She’d let him go, dark eyes tracking him across her quarters as he tried to appear simply tired, not rattled by her words.  

His office was dark when he arrived and Cullen fumbled about for the candle on his desk.  Drained of everything he had, he wanted to climb the ladder and fall face-first into bed.  But the armor had to come off.  Usually the cold spurred him into action, but his limbs were leaden.

He didn’t bother to do more than pull off the fur and metal and chose to climb under the blankets, fully clothed.  Hours later, when he was still staring at the hole in the ceiling and the stars beyond it, sleep well out of his grasp, Cullen was grateful for the clothing.  Dressing would have been difficult in the dark, let alone with clumsy, aching hands.  He wasn’t sure at this point whether stress, exhaustion, or the lyrium withdrawal would do him in first.

Cullen made his way into the tavern, seeking light and warmth and the presence - not the company - of others.  But he’d barely wrapped his hand around a mug of ale when a voice to his right said, “Make it two, would you?  I’m parched over here.”

He tried staring into the murky brown ale, ignoring the man beside him, but ignoring Varric was impossible.  Even he knew that, having watched Varric prattling on at Hawke every time they came to the Gallows.

Varric waited until his pint arrived before speaking.  “So, things not so great in the matter of our Inquisitor?”  

Cullen tried very hard to keep his face blank.  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Varric chuckled softly.  “Of course you don’t, Curly.”  Varric stared, gold-brown eyes narrowed in thought, like he could see right through Cullen.  “Last I heard, you two had a bit of a….falling out after the incident in the courtyard.  Have you made up yet?”

“Rumor-mill says they’re still at odds,” another voice said to his left.  “At least, those are the rumors I hear.”

Cullen fought the urge to bang his head into the rough-hewn bar.  Surely the pain would be better than _this_.   _Hemmed in by the dwarf and the Tevinter mage.  Maker’s breath, what have I done to deserve such a fate?_  Instead, he settled for staring down into his ale and wishing himself invisible.

“Another ale for our friend, Cabot,” Varric called out, getting a nod from the bartender in return.  “Well, you’re not hearing anything different than I have, Sparkler.  So we’re on the same level there.”

Dorian put a hand to his chest.  “You mean you don’t have some secret rumor mill, Varric?  Run by little nugs and golems carrying sealed envelopes all over Skyhold?  Color me shocked.”  He took the ale from Cabot and drank deeply.  “Now, onto the problem at hand.”

“I think he’s trying to convince himself nothing’s wrong,” Varric said, peering over Cullen’s shoulder at Dorian.  “But I also think it’s not working.”

Dorian chuckled, sliding forward on the bar so he could rest his chin in one hand, the other hand firmly dug into the handle of his ale.  “Of course you don’t!  Silly mage, whatever is he on about?  Inquisitors and commanders and all affairs of the heart in-between.  How absurd.”

Cullen did look at him now, confusion etched on his face.  “I’m sorry, what?”

Dorian raised an eyebrow.  “Oh, come now.  Don’t play the fool with me, Commander.”  As Cullen stared at him, Dorian sighed and said, “Fine, if you want to play it that way.” He tapped the bar with a finger when Cullen didn't quite meet his eyes.  "Although your silence now has me wondering.  Did something happen?  Something else, I mean."

“I think we already know the answer to that question.  He’s in here drinking...with _us_ ,” Varric muttered before tipping back his mug.

Memory of the night’s earlier events rushed at him.  When he blinked, Cullen could see the white lines of her scars like they’d been glued to the inside of his eyelids.  “She did, well, I mean - I suppose,” he said haltingly.

“And?”

Cullen ducked his head, not wanting to remember.  “And we’ve cleared the air.”

“Well, that sounds like a man convinced,” Varric said dryly.  “So what now, Curly?  I mean, she’s the Inquisitor.  And we all heard about the uh...incident in the courtyard with the soldiers.  If you really think things between you two are good, then why are you here?  Drinking.”  Varric raised an eyebrow.  “ ** _Alone_**.”

Cullen cleared his throat.  “Can’t a man get a drink alone?  I wasn’t aware that was some greater sign of impending doom.”

“For most men, no,” Varric agreed.  “But for you, and that storm cloud brewing around your forehead, it’s a big problem.  You spend too much time already with a serious expression on your face."

Cullen’s grip on the mug tightened.  He feared it would pop under the strain, sending ale and wood splinters scattering.  “And I’m to assume you have a recommendation?”

Dorian took a deep pull on his ale before stating, “Well, while we may not be in agreement with _when_ , Varric and I think you should corner her.  Seduce her.  Then bed her."  He grinned.  "Maker knows bedsport always puts a smile on _my_ face. ”

Cullen swallowed hard, grateful the ale was most of the way down before Dorian finished his sentence.  He would have spat ale right in Cabot’s face, and the tetchy bartender would have pummeled him.  “I’m sorry, you did not just-”

“Oh, he did,” Varric chimed in, unable to mask his grin at Cullen’s horrified expression.  “You can’t convince either of us you haven’t thought about it, Curly.  Hell, if she were a little shorter and stouter, I’d be thinking about it.  Not to say she isn’t...er…” Varric stopped talking when he caught the frigid expression on Cullen’s face.  “Right, well, you get the point.”

“What my dwarven friend meant to say was, take care of this, Commander.  Or I’m going to keep flirting with her shamelessly.  At least that makes her feel desirable.  And we all need to be desired, my dear Cullen.”  He paused, cocked his head.  “Well, actually I intend on still flirting shamelessly with her.  But don’t fool yourself into thinking she doesn’t feel the same about you.”

He’d had enough.  Between their suggestions - as _improper_ as they were - and the pulse of want thrumming just below his skin, he couldn’t.  Cullen stood so fast his barstool tipped backwards.  Without finishing his ale or righting the stool, he marched out of the tavern and into the cold air.  And he didn’t stop until he’d reached the statue of Andraste they’d found weeks earlier, tucked into an alcove in the garden.

A sanctuary, Mother Giselle had said as he helped her clean off the withered vines and light Chantry prayer candles around the statue.  A place where one can go when their mind is restless and their body aching.

He braced a hand on the doorway to the alcove and breathed deeply, slowly, focusing his gaze on the glow of half-burnt candles.  In this light, Andraste looked like she had an aura around her, and Cullen wanted to think it was there to protect anyone who sought out her comfort.

He knelt before the statue, closed his eyes, and prayed.  Hard.  Fervently.  He hadn’t been as vigilant in his prayers of late, barely able to drag himself to bed late into the evenings and rise only a few hours later, as tired as before.

The former Cullen, the one from Kirkwall and Fereden, would have never let his faith get pushed aside.  It had been the only thing keeping him from going stark raving mad.

Well, not the only thing.

He stared at the statue and remembered.  He remembered the hate that had surged in his veins upon seeing the broken, mangled bodies of his Templar brothers and sisters.  The hate that had made him wish horrible things upon all the mages as he looked upon a Gallows packed to the brim.  His hate had clouded his judgment, and his heart.  

But his faith had kept him still, stable.  As broken as he’d been, his faith had kept him from shattering.  

And it had been faith that had made him recognize it wasn’t hate, but fear.  Those who hated acted upon it, did terrible things in the name of it.  He wasn’t like those men, rotted to their very souls.

He’d proven himself salvageable.  Capable of being made whole again.

Cullen stared at Andraste once more, bowed his head, and started his prayer again.  The Canticle of Andraste was not in his heart then, and it would have felt false coming from his lips.  Instead, he spoke the words he’d never said out loud, and hoped against hope that someone would hear him.

_“O Maker, hear my cry:  Guide me through the blackest nights, steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked.  Make me to rest in the warmest places._

_O Creator, see me kneel:  For I walk only where You would bid me, stand only in places You have blessed, sing only the words You place in my throat._

_My Maker, know my heart.  Take from me a life of sorrow.  Lift me from a world of pain.  Judge me worthy of Your endless pride.”_

A footstep, soft but for the breaking of a twig underneath it, gave him pause.  He twisted around but didn’t rise, and saw her standing in the doorway, backlit by the full moon and the faint glow of candles someone had left near the garden’s arbor.

“I might not be into the whole Andraste and prayer deal, but from your lips, even I might believe it.”

Despite himself, despite everything, he chuckled.  He rose and faced her.  “Maybe I should have become a Chantry brother.”

Her smile was one sided.  “And waste _that_ in robes?  I prefer the armor, myself.”

Her face dropped as he replied, “Even Templar armor?  Well, ex-Templar.”

Alena took one step, then another.  “Because of it, actually.”  

He looked down, rubbing the back of his neck.  “Even after everything?”

She put a hand on his face, fingertips skimming his stubble.  “Especially after everything.  Maybe it’s ridiculous to say, but you know more about me than anyone.  And you still haven’t pulled away, not completely.”  

He stared at her, trying to put all the pieces together that made up the woman.  And desperately trying to ignore the warm fingertips on his face.  “I must admit, you startled me earlier,” he said slowly.  “I was so angry at what you’d suffered, some part of me still unable to believe that a Templar could….could do that.  In that moment, I hated everything the Templars stood for, what I stood for, and it just…”  He sighed, denying the urge to lick his lips as she gently touched his chin.  “It shook me.”

“You mean my confession of imaginary murder didn’t throw you?” she asked, eyes dark but for the flame of candles reflected in them.

“More like the thought that had I been there with you, I might have assisted,” he murmured and closed his eyes as her fingers traced the scar on his lip.

Alena hummed in thought and leaned in close.  “Well, now that that’s out of the way…”

He opened his eyes just as she pressed her mouth to his.

She was warm and soft and tasted like wine.  His hands, clearly acting of their own volition, slid around her waist, pulling her tightly to him.

She _melted_ against his body and for the first time, he realized how small she was.  She always seemed bigger than life, a heroic figure in their hour of need.  Staff crackling with electricity, eyes ablaze, powered only by her will and her strength.  

He could wrap his arms around her, lift her up, and carry her back to his office and never drop his lips from hers.

So he did just that.

Her noise of protest when her feet left the ground made him chuckle, and he paused only to say, “Give me this, Alena.  You can have whatever you want the moment I put you down.”

She pulled back just enough to glare at him, but she was smiling when she said, “I don’t play games, Commander.”

“Neither do I,” he whispered before claiming her lips again.


	6. The Games They Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks to codenamecynic for her advice, critiques, and general willingness to listen my bitching ;)

Halfway up the steps to his office, he lost his grip on her.

Navigating stairs while holding a woman who was intent on driving him mad had a way of setting his balance off.  But his fear of tumbling them both down the stairs was assuaged when she starting laughing, eyes dancing even in the shadow of the stairwell wall.

Alena slipped from his grasp, stood on her tiptoes, and pulled him down to her.  "I think I can walk the rest of the way," she whispered against his lips.  He didn't get the chance to answer, just fought to keep up as her kiss set him ablaze.

Fingers wound into his hair, guiding him, encouraging him as she pressed back into the wall.  She'd abandoned the high necked robes she favored, and the soft tunic yielded under his curious mouth.  He braced himself on the wall, boxing her in, bringing coiled heat and need down on her.

Every inch of her he was allowed to touch unraveled him.  He kissed the corner of her jaw, her pulse point, then lower.  She moaned softly when he reached a tender point just above her shoulder, but pulled back to look at her.  "Is this too much?"

She gave him a scalding look.  "Andraste's flaming ass, not enough," she growled, grabbing his fur mantle.  "If you don't get up those stairs...."

A thrill coursed through him at the rough edge of her voice.  "Is that a threat, Inquisitor?" he asked, unable to keep the satisfaction out of his tone.

Alena ran a finger over his jaw.  "The kind you'd like," she promised.  "Get the hell up those stairs.  I'm not having you right here, for everyone to see."

And she bolted past him, her swift footsteps daring him to catch her.  He stared after her for a moment, then followed, already missing the heat and taste of her.  His body yearned for her.

_He_ yearned for her.

It was such a short distance, but she was already darting into the dark of his office ahead of him.  When he reached his quarters, she was perched on his desk, a single candle lit in the high window behind her.  "Well, well, what have we here?" she asked, swinging one foot out.  "Seems I've caught the Inquisition's commander in the dark.  Alone."  

Cullen shut the door with a firm hand and approached her slowly.  He wasn't a complete innocent but this - this _game_ she was playing turned a crank in him he'd never known existed.  The thought of her actually catching him alone, off guard, in a darkened room made his blood race.

She might trap him, pin him to the door, and lean in to whisper -

"Cat got your tongue?" She slipped from the desk and walked to him, stopping within arm’s reach.  “I’ll have to remember this - the stalwart commander speechless.”  She smirked.  “I’m all aflutter.”

Her teasing only made him swallow hard.  He was clinging by two fingers to his control and if he let go, if he fell….

She would be there to bring him back.

He wanted his mouth on hers, her body under him and if he didn’t get it now, he’d be lost in a whirlpool of need and regret.  He shuddered.

Cullen closed the gap between them.  “I’d rather have you breathless,” he said.  “Clinging to me.   _Desperate_.  So we’ll start again.”

Alena’s lips parted a little and she looked up at him with fire in her eyes.  “Show me.”

Cullen would have happily followed her every command, but part of him desired her so badly.  He wanted to wrest control, just for a moment, from her.  To give her an empty place in her mind where nothing mattered but them, and the sensation of it all.

He grabbed the hem of his glove, peeled it off, and tossed it in the vicinity of his desk.  He wanted them gone, one less barrier between his skin and hers.  She watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, her body leaning into the heat and energy he radiated.  A layer of cloth and metal and fur separated them for now, but _right now_ , they would start with a touch.

A single touch that would lead to his undoing and he would be all the more glad for it.

His fingertips brushed her cheekbone and swept down.  Over her jaw, to the dip in her chin,  finally resting gently on her lips.

“That is wholly unfair,” she whispered.  “You kiss me and then you do _that_?”

His hand moved again, away from the temptation of her lips and closer to the thick mass of her hair.  She sighed as he cupped the back of her head.  “You don’t know what you do to me,” he said before kissing her again.  

The slick slide of her lips over his, the gentle brush of her tongue, the sharp nip of her teeth, and he was walking her backwards. _Want_ pounded through him, hammered into a heart and body that was willing to take such sweet torture.

Cullen was grateful when her knees hit the desk.  He tore his lips away from hers to brush aside the always-growing stack of reports.  They scattered, so many sentences and paragraphs about Venatori movements and and enemy supply lines, and he didn’t care.

She didn’t gasp in surprise as he bowed her over the desk, one knee between hers, one hand still on the back of her head.  She just smiled and reached over to pull off his other glove.

“What if I left it on on purpose?” he groaned in her ear, pulling the lobe between his teeth and getting a soft moan in return.

“I think you’re too distracted to do much more than kiss me senseless,” Alena said, the smile in her voice so bright he feared he’d look back at her and be blinded.  

“And what if I _want_ more?”

The smile dropped from her face at the silken edge in his voice.  Fingers slipped into his hair and he abandoned protecting the back of her head from the desk to trace the curve of her throat.  “Is that your way of warning me?”  The question was serious but her tone teased.  “You needn’t worry, Cullen.”  Her gaze flicked down and she chuckled.  “I might not have things written so...clearly across my body, but I want this.  Want you.”

There wasn’t enough blood near his brain to allow for a flush of embarrassment.  The taste of this, of her, the way she felt under him...he could call it need or want or even lust this point but if he didn’t get hands and mouth on her, he’d explode.  His heart was pounding hard enough to make him believe such a thing was possible.

He bent down to retrace the path his lips had taken earlier - jaw to neck to shoulder - but this time he dared to dip lower, fingers pulling at the soft fabric .  The arch of her collarbone was too tempting.  “Think this desk can hold us both?” he said, lips pressing into her skin.

She gasped softly when his teeth grazed her.  “I think I’m will -illing to try,” she stuttered.  Strong fingers closed around the fur at his neck and tugged.  “Off.”

“Mmmm, it’s a bit early for that, don’t you think?”  His lips had found their way back to her neck, tongue flicking out to trace the muscle there.

“Absolutely not,” she protested, pulling harder.  “I want you naked.”

He froze, a groan slipping past his lips.  “Maker’s breath,” he said, leaning his head back to look at her.  “You really are trying to undo me, aren’t you?”

She glared at him and tugged again.  “I’m trying.  You’re being stubborn.  Well, your armor is.”

He chuckled at that and put his hands over hers.  “It takes more than a good tug to get it off.”  One of her eyebrows rose and the smirk on her lips had him scrambling for words.   _Any words, other than those_ , he thought as her smirk spread into a grin. He tried for levity.  “I said that on purpose.”

Alena tipped her head back and laughed.  It was a sweet, clear sound, infectious enough to make him smile in return.  “Oh, Cullen,” she said, her eyes alight.  “You are so devastating and you don’t even know it.”

He cocked his head at her words and tried to will away the blush he could feel searing his cheeks.  “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Gorgeous, brilliant man,” she said, the honey in her voice going to his head faster than any alcohol.  “And yet you don’t know it, don’t think it.  Other people walk around here, so strong in their convictions, in their beliefs.  And they’re _loud_ about it, aren’t they?  But you,” and she reached up to run a fingertip over his cheek, “you are just a man.  Just a man with a past he struggled with and won and now...oh, now you have what you want and you don’t even realize why.”

He wanted to protest, to tell her that he knew why, but his breath was gone.  She’d stunned him and now she was looking at him with want softened at its edges by - by -

“Sweet Andraste.”  The words left him quickly and he was afraid he’d done something wrong by the way she was looking at him.  

She pushed up, then to her feet, standing between him and the desk.  “Let’s go upstairs,” she whispered and nodded toward the ladder.

Alena grasped his hand and led him away from the desk and the hurricane of papers.  

  
  


* * *

 

Cullen reached the last ladder rung and was pulling himself up when a flutter of cloth made his  eyes widen.

“I thought a little encouragement might get you moving faster,” she said, hands on her hips.  “Does this work?”

The proud, bare lines of her shoulders fascinated him, and what was below...  “I - ah.  I mean to say,” he stammered.  He pushed up over the edge of the ladder and came to stand, eyes wandering over her.  “Yes, yes it does.”

There was that smile of hers again.  So self-satisfied but behind it, he saw doubt.  Worry.

And he wouldn’t stand for her worrying.  Ever again, if he could help it.

With practiced ease, he unbuckled the fur around his shoulders.  It found a new home in a faraway corner.  He approached her with slow, steady steps, keeping his eyes on hers while he pulled armor and cloth away.

Her gaze lingered on him, drawing a line from his face to his neck, then further south.  She licked her lips and heat doused his veins.  But as she stared, she focused on his chest and the scars there.  Her shoulders tightened and he knew what she was thinking about.  

Stripped to trousers, Cullen took her hands and put them on his chest.  He gently grasped one index finger and drew it down over a scar that ran from right pectoral and down.  The touch made him shiver.  “That was from the blade of a Templar,” he said softly.  “When the Ferelden Circle fell, some of my brothers and sisters were victims of possession by the demons who roamed the halls.”  

Alena’s brow drew down, so he kept moving.  He guided her finger to a deeper mark, on the lower half of his ribs.  “This one is from Kirkwall.  I was tracking Templar recruits who had disappeared before their vigils.  The one recruit led me on a chase out into the mountains, and when I confronted him, that's when the demons appeared.”  His other hand cupped her jaw, his thumb stroking her cheek.  “It turned out that blood mages were picking off recruits and using them in some ritual.  The demon he raised swiped at me.  I didn’t even know I’d been injured until I arrived back at the Gallows.”  He smiled, just a quick thing that flashed across his face.  “That’s also the day I met Hawke.”

Alena’s eyes widened in surprise but she said nothing.  Instead, she let him guide her hand one more time to the scar near his collarbone.  It was deep, the stitch marks still visible, and it tingled under her touch.  “And this is from Haven,” he said in a low voice.  “I look at it every day and remember that fire, the screams.  And it’s hard not to wish I’d been faster, stronger, better.  But this,” and he put his hand over hers, “is just part of me now.  I can wish all I like, but it won’t change the past.  And what I did, or didn’t do, doesn’t change who I am.”  He curled his fingers around hers and pulled her arms around his neck.  “It wasn’t always easy, and I’ve visited dark places I don’t care to return, but these marks are only a portion of the story.”

“Cullen,” she breathed, leaning into him.  “I don’t - I don’t know what to say.”

He ran his fingers down her spine and she shivered.  “Then don’t say it.”

He kissed her with everything that he’d locked away for so long, remnants of desires and passions he used to believe made him weak.  She gasped when the velvet of his tongue touched hers and he used the moment to slide his hands behind her thighs, lifting her.

Her legs clamped around his waist like a vise and she tore away from him, panting, wild eyed.  “Bed.  Now.”

Cullen couldn’t have agreed more.  He was _throbbing_ , a baser instinct that was clawing for her warmth.  He tipped them onto his bed, catching himself on his hands.  Alena wasted no time in pulling him back down by the neck for another kiss.

He settled between her thighs and tried not to press against her.  There was so much he wanted.  But some part of him was still unbelieving that he had this woman with him, on his bed, under him.  Cullen tried to pull back and look at her but the moment he stopped the kiss, she growled, “Don’t you dare”.

He let his touch wander, over her arms, skimming her ribs, teasing the soft skin under her breast band. She arched against him, mouth open, eyes fixed on him.  

She was light and power and the faint sting of magic and he was lost.  Everything tingled, from the point where his fingers brushed over her skin, through every meeting of their lips.  Alena rolled her hips to rub against him and he groaned, ducking his head and resting against her stomach.  

“You’re _killing_ me,” he said in a strained voice, tracing the curve of her waist with his mouth.

Alena snickered above him.  “There are worse ways to go, Commander.”

He groaned again, more a sound of exasperation than lust this time.  “You know what I mean.”

She propped herself up on a elbow and looked down at him, grinning.  “Not yet, I don’t.”

The challenge in her eyes could not go unanswered.  He passed a hand over the waist of her trousers, fingers teasing the skin just above.  “I could play dumb, Inquisitor.”

That got him a snort.  “Highly unlikely.”  She raised an eyebrow, looked down at his trousers.  “Definitely not with that tent you’ve got going on.”

Cullen flushed but refused to be swayed.  “Whatever do you mean?”

The eyebrow dropped.  “Oh, so that’s how we’re playing it.”

One finger dipped under the hem of her trousers and she froze.  “Who said I’m playing?”

 

* * *

 

Shadows cast by moon and starlight did little to help him see her, so he took his time.  Learning her body through touch, the tips of his fingers and the palms of his hands, became more important than seeing every detail.  He did plan on seeing it all, at some point, but right now, he wanted to map her with his hands.  

She began to tremble under him once nothing remained but skin and he became intimately familiar with the shape of her breasts and the lines of muscle on her thighs.  She was soft everywhere, and so warm he’d kicked the covers to the foot of the bed and out of their way.  Alena responded to him in the most beautiful ways, and she kept touching him.  Any part of him she could get her hands on she caressed.  

He was desperate, and desperately trying to focus on details like the mole above her hip and the soft patch of skin on her lower belly.  But the smell of her, the need to feel her around him, was winning.

She breathed out his name as he kissed his way across her hips.  He could have shattered then, amazed at how she reacted to his every touch.  And when he brushed a finger against her folds, she begged for him.

“Cullen, _please_ ….”

He dared to look up, saw the need on her face.  “I’m trying so damn hard to make this last,” he said, moving his finger to brush against that little bundle of nerves.

Alena gasped, bucked against him.  “We’ve plenty of time for that.   _Later_.”  When he just stared steadily at her, she snapped, “Dammit, Cullen.”

Her hand wrapped around him and it felt like his lungs had collapsed.  Breath left him in a gust and he arched into her touch as a shudder raced down his spine.  “Alena.  Maker’s breath,” he whispered.

He glimpsed the satisfied smirk on her face, which warped into a full-blow smile as she began to stroke his cock.  She reached up and grabbed his ass, pulling him closer.  His body tensed as she worked one hand over his cock, the other kneading firm muscle.  Cullen was quickly losing track of everything, his mind and body blurring into a font of need.

Alena hooked a leg around the back of his thigh and his shaky limbs gave out.  He caught himself and looked down.  She was staring up at him, a soft smile ghosting about her lips, and she said, “Cullen” so reverently, he’d swore she was praying.

“Don’t ask me if I’m sure,” she said.  “Just kiss me.”

“I can do that,” he said.  

The kiss burned, like touching sun-heated metal.  And when she took him in, he pulled back just enough to breathe.  But the breath was pummeled from him the second she arched her back and wrapped her legs around him.

And he was lost.  His hips snapped forward, driven by instinct and desire, fueled by the look in her eyes.  He bent down as she surged up to him and met her in a kiss that devastated.  

She was tight and slick and perfect and if he were to ever know peace again, it would be here.  Against her, over her, in her, until she lost control, lost her mind, lost her breath.

And when she said his name, it was sweeter than any part of the Chant.  Divine in her eyes, the infallible man who had stumbled and fallen and then returned to himself on a hope and a prayer and the belief that he simply _could_.

 

 


	7. Epilogue Part I

_Two weeks, four Fade rifts, another dragon, and not enough nights in her bed later_

Dorian’s head appearing in his doorway automatically made Cullen squint.

The mage saw his furrowed brow and chuckled, slipping past the half-open door to lean casually against the stone wall.  “I’d be confused in your position, too.  What’s the mage doing in my quarters, the stalwart commander wonders.”  He tapped a finger on his chin then launched out from the wall, neck craned to survey the hole in the roof.  “If you’re looking for some complicated answer or clever scheme, I admit, I have none.”  He stopped when he was mere feet from Cullen.  “What I do have is a simple question for you.”

Cullen’s face didn’t relax; rather, he added a scowl to mix.  “Am I supposed to be relieved to hear it’s just a question?”

Dorian smiled.  “In this case, yes.”

He sighed.  “Fine, what’s the question?”

“Are you happy, Commander?”

Cullen let his gaze roam over the other man, trying to see the quip or joke behind it all.  Instincts sensing nothing, since Dorian was looking at him not expectantly but not without interest, Cullen rested his hand on the pommel of his sword and replied, “This is of concern to you?”

All pretense gone, Dorian crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.  “It is indeed.  We can’t have the Inquisition’s commander tossed about on the waves of depression.  Imagine how that would look to the soldiers.  So I’ll ask again - are you happy, Cullen?”

His thoughts instantly fled to _her_ and everything rushed to the surface, including a faint blush up his neck.  “Yes, I am.”

“See?  Simple enough.”

“Though I can’t imagine that you were truly concerned for my well-being.”

Dorian waggled a finger at him.  “I was, actually.  Alena’s been rather tight-lipped about the two of you.  But she’ll get this little smile on her face when she thinks no one’s looking.  It’s nice, you know, to see something go right in the middle of all this chaos and death.”  He turned to leave, then looked back and added, “ It’s a rare thing in this world, what the two of you have.  Most of us spend our lives in the dirt and muck, wading through grief and heartbreak and then we lie awake at night, pining.  Fighting for the exact thing you have now.  Hold tight to that, commander.”

Cullen waited until Dorian’s footsteps stopped echoing before walking as quickly as dignity would allow across the parapets, through the library, and up the back staircase to Alena’s quarters.  Hand on the door, he peered around the corner and saw her bent over her desk.  Hair slipping from its bun, she kept pushing it back with one ink-stained hand.

He was going to say something, truly he was.  But when she started humming to herself, other hand drumming a soft beat on the desktop, he froze and just listened.

The song was old, Fereldan, about lovers reuniting under a star-studded sky.  Everyone knew it, since it was popular in taverns, but until she stopped humming and started singing, he’d never heard it performed so sweetly, so honestly.  And he knew his instincts had been right.

“I love you,” he said as he crossed the floor.  She spun around, eyes widened ever so slightly.  Cullen wrapped his arms around her and gazed down.  She was warm and soft, even with the layers of leather and metal separating.  He breathed in and remembered.  “I’ve not said it yet but I should have.  I love you and I just hope-”

She shook her head, a smile cutting through his words.  “Stop.  Don’t.  Don’t go there, Cullen.”  Alena put her hand on his cheek.  “I love you, too.  For now, let’s just be that.  Two people in love.  I don’t want to worry about the rest quite yet.”  She pulled him close, resting her head on him.  “Let’s just be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More epilogue to follow!
> 
> To read a "missing scene", it's on my Tumblr: http://hallianna.tumblr.com/post/112569844812/missing-scene-only-priests-and-fools-are


	8. Epilogue Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end! I may be adding more parts to make this a series, for but now, enjoy some end-game antics and a little AdoriBull.

The air simmered with power and energy.  Alena could feel the hair on the back of her neck prickle with it.  The forces Corypheus toyed with pulled on her magic, making her skin thrum and tingle.

She rushed forward, hand aimed at the darkspawn magister.  Iron Bull let out a primal yell and ran past her, the edge of his giant axe glinting red.  She felt Dorian’s power at her back, heard the twang of Bianca.  Alena knew everything hung in the balance of this moment and as demons rushed at her, she thought of him.

Her world had become very different with Cullen in it.  The promise of after and later, wound tightly with the unspoken if we both make it through this had made her toss any remaining cares off the battlements last night.  She’d asked him to take her, own her, claim her, to give her one last moment of peace before she set the world on fire and stared Death in the eyes.

He hadn’t hesitated for a moment.  Driven by the same fears, the same passion as she, he hadn’t even taken his armor off before she was up against the wall, legs wrapped around him, fingers digging into his neck.  Every thrust, every moan, every time he looked at her, and she had felt the world close in on them, leaving nothing but the sound of their ragged breath and his armor scraping against the stone.

She fought for everyone.  She fought for peace and justice and to avenge the deaths of so many.  And she fought for him, for whatever they were destined for because she couldn’t imagine the alternative.

The ground beneath them shifted, entire masses of rock launched upward at a dizzying speed.  Dorian threw up a barrier just in time to keep them all from falling to their deaths.  And when she stood, she looked at Death and nodded.  

This was a fight he would not win.

 

* * *

 

The demons poured from the shadows, dripping with the faint green glow of the Fade.  Cullen yelled commands out to the left flank, ordering the archers to pick off what they could.  He braced for the impact as a hunger demon rushed him, then drove his sword into its belly with a roar.

Every inch of him felt hot.  If he’d had the moment to think, he would have marveled at how battle turned even the most even-keeled of his soldiers into machines of war.  There was a mindlessness to it, ducking and dodging and stabbing.  His vision narrowed, centered, and he breathed harshly through his nose as he spotted another wave coming straight at them.

Like time had suspended (or maybe it had, he couldn’t tell in this place where blood and flesh met magic and energy), he felt his heart slow.  A breath of wind brushed across his neck and he looked up, instincts screaming at him.  Corypheus had taken chunks out of the cliffs and hung them in the grey-green air, like jagged little lanterns at a party.  And then he heard her yell, saw the blaze of her power, and watched her, just a tiny figure on the rocks above, launch herself at the enemy.

He felt fear in that moment and every prayer, every blessing he’d ever learned fled from him that moment.  He could only manage _Maker, please_.  Everything else was lost amidst the claws and screeches of the demons surrounding them.

He fought for everyone, but he knew in his heart, no amount of victory would do if she perished.  So he fought to keep her safe, and to give him something to hope for.    
  


* * *

 

Like a physical hand on his back, Cullen felt relief push him toward her.  It was crazy, what she had just done; crazy and impossible and five different levels of insane, but somehow, she’d survived.  They all had.  And Corypheus was dead.

And she was alive.

She smiled and waved as the crowd parted around her, but the moment she was free of the last well-wisher, Alena ran up the steps, two at a time, and launched herself at him.

He caught her easily and buried his face in her neck.  “Alena,” he said, a rush of emotion captured and bound in that one word.

She pulled back to look at him, eyes shining.  “Not here,” she said softly.  “I’m about to be pulled in a thousand different directions.  I don’t want to ruin this moment.”  She stroked his face with a finger.  “Wait for me, later.”

He did as she asked, waiting what felt like an eternity as he watched her move from table to table, greeting the gathered nobles and diplomats and soldiers alike.  Dorian passed him ale and Varric tried to make conversation, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her.  Nor did he want to.

Cullen eventually gave in when Bull pushed him into a chair and handed him a plate with a rough, “Better eat, Cullen.  I think you’ll need your strength later.”  And despite himself, he laughed.  Bull just grinned at him and went back to shoveling roast into his mouth.

There was a warmth, a familiarity to sitting amongst this odd group of people - people who had stayed through the best and worst of it all and were still here.  Gathered around a table, eating, drinking.  Talking in weary, but relieved tones and putting back more ale than probably healthy.  

“It’s kind of like family,” Varric said near his elbow.  Cullen turned to the dwarf and he continued.  “A weird, very dysfunctional family who will probably always find something to fight about, but still family.”  The dwarf dipped his head, eyes cast downward.  “I didn’t think I’d find that again, to be honest.  But it’s nice.”

“Well, it beats the alternative,” Dorian piped up from across the table.  “Dead isn’t exactly a good look on anyone.”

Vivienne tipped her glass at him.  “Well said, darling.”

Cullen chuckled, incredulous at the way they were talking like fighting a darkspawn magister had been an easy thing.  But in the end, the difficulty hadn’t mattered.  They’d survived.  Everything else could wait for a night.

“I’ve been looking for you,” said a voice in his ear, and familiar fingers combed through his hair.

Well, everything else could wait but _her_.

Unbidden, he stood and followed her to the stairwell door.  In the background he heard Varric say, “No, kid, leave them be for once.  They deserve it,” among the hoots and hollers from some of the others.  A blush fought to creep up his neck, but he shoved it back down enough to toss them a wink.  It only made them cheer harder.

He laughed all the way up the stairs, even as she tugged on his hand, a wicked grin on her face.  “You just like antagonizing them,” she teased as she pulled him toward the bed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he scoffed, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her close.

“Liar,” she breathed, tilting her head up.

“So is this later?” he asked, dancing fingers up her spine.

Alena shivered.  “For starters.”  Her smile widened as she nestled close to him.  “It’s really over, right?”

Another flood of relief rushed through him at her words.  “I think it is.”

“Thank the Maker’s ruddy asscheeks for that,” she said, making him snort.  “What will we do now?”

“I’m sure there will be no end of nobles and diplomats wanting your ear,” he replied as he walked her slowly backwards.  “Papers to sign, treaties to forge, forces to command.”

“Sounds exhausting.  Time-consuming.”  The back of her knees hit the bed and she pulled him down with her, over her.  “But tonight, I’d rather do something else just as tiring, but far more fun.”

A grin slowly spread over his face and he reached up to undo her hair.  “My dear Inquisitor, I hope you’re not suggesting anything…. _untoward_.”

“More like much deserved,” she replied, running warm fingertips over his cheek.  “Now if you don’t mind, Commander….do shut up.”

 

* * *

 

_A day later_

 

“I don’t hear anything.”

“Maybe if you’d be quiet for a moment, we would.”

“Oooh, touchy.  Did I hurt your feelings, Vint?”

“Do you want me to make more exasperated noises at you?”

“What are you two doing?”

Dorian and Bull whirled around to see Cassandra, arms crossed and brow furrowed, glaring at them. “Just...making sure they don’t need, you know, water or something,” Bull said quickly.  

Dorian couldn’t muffle his laugh fast enough, managing to add, “That was terrible.  I thought your wit was quicker than that, amatus.”

“Maybe it just doesn’t work because you almost broke me last night, kadan,” Bull growled softly with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Cassandra brushed past them, hurling a, “Both of you need to grow up,” at the pair.  “I’m sure the Inquisitor is tied up -”

Bull snorted and whacked Dorian on the back, making the mage glare at him.  “See, we’re not the only kinky ones here.”

“ ** _Ugh_**.”  She raised a fist and knocked on the Inquisitor’s door.  “Inquisitor, I hate to interrupt but Leliana has brought a matter to my attention.”

A thump, a bang, then a muffled, “Cullen, dammit, _the door_.”

“What?”

“I can’t answer it naked.”

Cullen’s laughter, muffled by the door, was still loud enough for all of them to hear.  “I’m certainly not minding the view.”

Dorian had to turn away to hide his grin and Bull said with a smirk on his face, “Good on you, Cullen!”

Cassandra slowly backed away from the door, panic in her voice as she said quickly, “No need to rush, Inquisitor.  In fact, don’t worry about it.  I’m sure we can handle it.”

She backpedaled a little more then turned and walked away, her boots pinging off the stone floor.  

Dorian waited until she was gone before turning to Bull.  “You know, with all this excitement and talk of tying things up, I find myself wondering.”

“About?”

“Whether that silk we used last night has a bit of life left in it.”  Dorian ran a finger across Bull’s belt.  “Care to find out?”

 


	9. Missing Scene 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A scene cut from the early draft of the story; originally posted on Tumblr.

“So, Inquisitor.” **  
**

Alena turned around to see Blackwall staring at her, mischief in his eyes.   _Why did I ever think bringing him AND Sera along was a good idea?_  she wondered before answering him.  “Yes?”

Sera snorted and elbowed Blackwall in the ribs, then skipped off, bow swinging from one hand.  Blackwall combed a hand through his beard and said, “Well, I was wondering.  About you and the Commander.”

Cassandra looked up from her sword, which she was running over with a whetstone, to give him a mildly curious look.  “Whatever are you talking about?”

“Oh, I think the Inquisitor knows,” Blackwall said, a teasing note in his voice that Alena knew spelled trouble.

“All right, out with it,” she said as she crossed her arms.  “What salacious details did Sera want you to pull from me?”

Blackwall chuckled.  “What do you mean, Inquisitor? I just wanted to ask about that tiff you two had out in the courtyard a few weeks back.”

“Oh, that.  We’re fine,” she replied, still staring at him skeptically.  “Is that all?”

“Pfffft, no!”

Alena took a deep breath as Sera appeared at her elbow.  “Something you need, Sera?”

The elf laughed.  “Yeah, I do.  Need something, I mean.”  She waggled her eyebrows.  “I _neeeeeddd_  all the dirt on you and Cullen.  Culley.  Culley-Wulley.”  At the nickname, Cassandra raised her head, eyes sharp on Alena, but said nothing.

Blackwall chortled at the look Alena gave him.  “Is that a name you gave him, Inquisitor?  It’s rather…endearing.”

Sera laughed again, nudging Alena with her arm.  “Come on.  Tell us.”  When Alena gave her a blank stare, she said, “Come  _on_.  Don’t want to beg.  Just tell.”

Alena’s gaze flitted from Sera to Blackwall and back, finally landing on Cassandra.  “Care to weigh in here?”

Cassandra shook her head and continued to sharpen her blade.  “What you and…the Commander do is none of my business, Inquisitor.”  She stopped sharpening and her expression softened.  “I just hope you’re happy.  We all deserve a little happiness in these troubled times.”

The Seeker’s words seemed to deflate the entire conversation.  Sera scowled and skipped away again, grumbling, “Piss on it.”  And Blackwall gave Alena a smile then headed toward his tent, giant axe slung over a shoulder.

Aleana sank down on the makeshift bench beside Cassandra and sighed. “Does everyone know?”

Cassandra packed the whetstone away and turned to her friend.  “I didn’t until now.  I’d heard rumors, mostly from Varric.  But it’s hard to trust what he says, so I didn’t put much stock into it.  But I have eyes, Inquisitor. I knew it was only a matter of time before Cullen could keep himself from you.”

“We’d had a few…exchanges,” Alena admitted.

Cassandra shook her head.  “That’s not what I mean.  The way he’d look at you, like you were the center of his world.  Any woman with a heart in her chest would notice that look, even if it wasn’t aimed at them.”  She patted Alena on the arm.  “You give him hope, Inquisitor.  He has the strength, and the courage, but hope is fleeting.  And in you, he’s found it.”

Cassandra said goodnight and disappeared into her tent, leaving Alena alone in the dark with her thoughts.


End file.
